


Crimes and Misdemeanors

by zoemathemata



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, PWP, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-17
Updated: 2012-08-17
Packaged: 2017-11-12 08:06:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/488596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zoemathemata/pseuds/zoemathemata
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How do you summarize something with no plot? Um.... Okay. In which there is burglary, conjugation of English verbs and then sexy times in a closet with Derek Hale. Yes, please.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crimes and Misdemeanors

**Author's Note:**

> written for the stop_drop_howl comm at LJ. I was tagged with Breaking and Entering. What it says on the tin, peeps. Stiles is 16 so I tagged with underage.

So, the thing is, Stiles kinda _knows_ he has this thing for Derek Hale. 

He’s not dumb. 

The guy is like… carved from marble or whatever it is they carve statues from these days. And he’s always taking his shirt off. Ridiculously all the time. It’s like he’s got some kind of quota he’s gotta meet and as soon as he thinks he might not be getting close then -whoosh - there goes the shirt. 

And he manhandles Stiles. 

A lot. 

Which he totally didn’t think he’d be into but holy God, he’s _so_ into it. 

When Derek manhandles (Wolfhandles? Werewolfhandles?) him, Stiles can feel all the strength in Derek’s body, strength he’s not even using, it’s all just… coiled there like a spring, just waiting. 

Sometimes he presses up into Stiles’ space and _fuck_ , Derek smells good. He smells like the forest and grass and some kind of deodorant and clean sweat. 

Sometimes he sniffs at Stiles and it’s a little freaky but still definitely on the _this is totally OKAY_ side of Stiles’ kink-o-meter. 

Stiles’ brain must totally malfunction when Derek’s around because when Derek had said that he was going to break into the witches’ bookstore and try to find one of their grimoires, Stiles immediately declared himself backup and getaway driver. 

Which is how he ended up, creeping around like a creeping-creeper with Derek Hale, he of the amazing-smelling chiseled _everything_ , at two in the morning in a small, antique bookshop one town over. 

Stiles honestly knows better. 

His dad is the _sheriff_ for crying loud. 

But if (when) they get caught, he’d so rather deal with his dad the sheriff than his dad the, well, _dad_. 

Because the law has things like statues of limitations and penal codes and actual rules to follow whereas his dad can just make up any shit he likes for punishment. When he and Scott had tried to set up their own skateboarding park in the parking lot of one of the local churches and had maybe _borrowed_ some pylons, some saw horses, a cement barrier, a partial set of stairs from the lumber yard and all eight of the Stilinski family sofa’s cushions (for the landing pad), his dad had swung some kind of detail with the park ranger and Stiles had ended up mucking out the stalls of the trail horses for six weeks. 

And he didn’t even get to land in the squishy sofa pile _once_. 

That had only been for minor public disturbance and public lewdness. 

And the lewdness wasn’t even his fault. There’s no way he could have predicted that his shorts were gonna get caught on that cement and just… well. Mrs. Dohover saw a heck of a lot of him that day and she still kind of gives him this really awkward and horrific winky-smile face when he sees her in the grocery store. 

Blergh. He gives a full body shudder. 

Derek stills and turns around. “What? What’s wrong?”

“What?” Stiles asks, staring in the half light at Derek’s face. “Other than breaking and entering? Nothing.”

“You shuddered.”

“Oh,” says Stiles. “Mrs. Dohover,” he finishes by way of an answer. 

Derek narrows his eyes at him and then grits his teeth. “Just… let’s go.”

So yeah, if his dad got that upset at a miniature skate park, he can’t even imagine what the punishment will be for breaking and entering. Even if Derek did all the breaking and Stiles only participated in the entering part. 

“I’m a burglar now. I burgle,” he mutters, crouched behind Derek who is sniffing the air strangely - body hunched over, nose up. “I’m in the process of burgling. Tomorrow I will say ‘I burgled’. Or yesterday I could have said, ‘I will burgle’. If my dad finds me now, I can use the past perfect continuous ‘I had been burgling when I was arrested.”

Derek turned around and Stiles saw his eyes glow red. “He was burgling when he was murdered by his partner. Past continuous,” he hissed sotto voice. 

And wow, okay, Derek could maybe be some kind of grammar nazi. Holy shit - ironic, given his lack of verbage generally. “I’m pretty sure you’re my accomplice, not my partner,” Stiles said back. “Or rather, I’m your accomplice. Since it was your idea.”

“I told you to wait in the car.”

“I can’t wait in the car!” he protested in a hissed whisper. “No one ever waits in the car! People who wait in the car get discovered twice as fast and then you’ve got to make up some ridiculous reason why you’re just sitting there waiting in the car.”

“Stiles.”

“Yes.”

“Shut. Up.”

Derek’s eyes flash red again and Stiles cowers slightly. “Okay. Totally shutting up now.”

Derek had said that grimoires had a _smell_ to them and he’s hoping that his nose will lead them to one. 

Stiles has been dying to make nose or smelling jokes all night. The nose knows, hit it on the nose, nosing around, on the trail like a bloodhound. It’s _fraught_ with possibilities. 

In the partial darkness, Stiles is transfixed watching Derek’s muscles bunch and shift under his shirt. He can feel his fingers tingling with want, just thinking about reaching out and touching. 

He actually has his hand up and hovering over Derek’s back when Derek suddenly pauses, turns slightly and then _grabs_ Stiles and starts shoving him toward the back of the bookshop. 

Oh God, the manhandling. Again. 

Derek pushes him into a small janitor’s closet and then catches him when Stiles almost steps into the mop bucket. He wobbles a bit and hits the mop which starts to tip over before Derek catches that too, stepping into the too small closet and pulling the door shut behind him. 

He’s chest to chest. 

With Derek Hale. 

He feels his dick give a little twitch and he _prays_ like he has never prayed before that his dick will suddenly understand the concept of ‘inappropriate time’ and can comprehend the many, many, many ways he will take care of it _later_ if only it promises to behave. Just this one time. 

It occurs to him that he’s totally not sure why they’re in the janitor’s closet. He’s trying to see Derek in the dark but he can’t even make out his silhouette. 

“What-”

Derek claps his hand over Stiles mouth before he can say anything more. Stiles knows his own eyes must be as large as saucers as he tries to see in the inky black. 

“Quiet,” Derek breathes in Stiles’ ear and Holy God, Derek’s hot breath across his ear and his neck - he can’t help it, he’s sixteen for Christ’s sake. He swallows hard and prays twice as hard because his dick, that traitor, is totally seeing this situation different. 

Stiles’ brain sees them in the middle of a B and E and there’s the distinct possibility they will get caught. 

His dick thinks they are pressed up against Derek; Derek is breathing in their ear and it’s _fucking awesome_. 

He squirms a bit, thinking maybe he can put some distance between himself and Derek, but Derek drops his hand from Stiles’ mouth and uses both hands on Stiles’ biceps to yanks him closer.

Stiles brain: zero, Stiles dick: +1.

He exhales on a shaky breath and then tries to take a deep breath in. Calm thoughts, calm thoughts. Totally unsexy thoughts. Totally unsexy thoughts that are _not_ Derek’s muscles all pressed up against the length of Stiles’ body and that is _not_ Derek’s thigh almost slotted between Stiles’ legs. 

“Stop squirming,” Derek mouths against his ear and another shudder goes through Stiles’ body and travels straight to his dick. 

And he maybe whimpers a little. 

He feels Derek _still_. He wasn’t really moving before but suddenly, he’s perfectly motionless against Stiles and Stiles can feel a hot flush burn its way up his chest, neck and cheeks because he knows he’s totally sporting wood and with the way Derek is mashed up against him, there’s _no way_ he can’t feel it. 

Derek’s lips move close to Stiles ear and Stiles has a moment of panic, thinking _‘Oh shit, is it customary in the wolf kingdom to bite off the ear of a wolf that’s mortally offended you or something?’_.

Derek licks up the delicate shell of Stiles ear and Stiles’ knees buckle a bit and all his blood surges to his dick and it brushes up against Derek’s leg and it’s the most fantastic thing he’s ever felt. 

Derek pushes him back and Stiles fees the wall of the closet against his back and fuckit, he can’t see anything but it doesn’t even matter because Derek is nudging his legs apart with one of his (stupidly) muscled thighs and _fuck_ it feels so good. 

He can feel Derek’s breath hot and a little damp on his face, and then Derek’s hands are traveling up Stiles’ arms, pushing into his clavicle and encircling his neck and then one of Derek’s thumbs is at Stiles’ bottom lip. Stiles’ darts out his tongue and licks it and it’s salty and hot and Derek huffs out an exhale and then smashes his lips into Stiles’. 

It’s hot and wet and slippery and it’s so not coordinated or smooth and Stiles’ doesn’t fucking care. He’s managed to get his hands underneath Derek’s shirt and he’s touching actual skin - the hard planes of Derek’s back, hot underneath his shirt - the strong bones of Derek’s scapula. Derek’s tongue is so far in his mouth he thinks he could swallow it and he’s trying to push his own tongue further into Derek’s mouth and he just wants to swallow him whole. 

He feels Derek’s hot, hard length press against his hip and Jesus, he gave Derek Hale a boner. He totally turned Derek Hale on. It makes him dizzy, or maybe it’s the lack of oxygen because Derek won’t even let him take a breath. 

Derek’s hands side down Stiles arms, then his flanks and then Derek’s hands are under Stiles’ thighs and with a quick jerk, Stiles is off the ground and his legs are wrapped around Derek. Stiles hooks his ankles around the small of Derek’s back and tries to use a little bit of leverage to push his groin against Derek, leaning slightly back into the wall. 

Derek pushes against him, hard and powerful and Stiles has to break the kiss just to _breathe_ , god he can’t breathe, and he’s rubbing himself against Derek, small tiny movements, anything he can manage. Derek is pressing into him, trying to pull him closer, closer, his hands digging into Stiles ass. He’s gonna have bruises for sure. 

Derek’s mouthing along the skin of his neck and Stiles can’t help but tip it back, bare his throat and he hears Derek growl and feels it against the thin skin of his neck. He’s so hard it’s painful and he’s seconds away from coming and he can’t stop, he doesn’t want to stop. 

“I… I can’t… oh fuck, Derek, please,” he whispers and then Derek’s teeth are on his neck, at the meaty part where it meets his shoulder and he’s coming so hard he sees white and he feels Derek’s hips jerk hard against him a few more times and then Derek’s entire body goes rigid. Derek’s breath hitches at the back of his throat and Stiles feels more heat surge between them and oh my god he just made Derek come in his pants. 

He’s panting like he’s run suicides in lacrosse, but he’s still trying to keep quiet even though, wow, he just made out in the middle of a felony. 

Derek is breathing hard into Stiles’ neck and then Stiles is being carefully lowered back to the ground and if his knees almost give out the first time he tries to stand and Derek steadies him, well… he’s pretty sure he came so hard he lost some of his brains. 

Derek’s hands are running up Stiles’ arms again, up to his neck and his rubbing circles with his thumbs and then he tips his head and touches his forehead to Stiles’. 

“I think they’re gone now,” Derek says, voice soft and low. 

“What?” asks Stiles. He’s still on the floaty cloud of awesome. 

Derek’s lips touch his; soft and careful. “I heard someone come in, but I think they’re gone now.”

“Oh,” is all he can manage. 

Derek pulls away and it’s cold and sharp where the warmth of his body used to be. Compared to the total black of the closet, the interior of the bookshop seems bright in comparison. He can pretty much make out all the bookshelves and stands now. Derek’s fingers slide through his and give him a little tug forward and then they’re up and down three aisles when Derek finally pulls out a book, gives it a sniff and nods. 

He tucks it under his arm and starts heading back toward the entrance they came in through. 

He’s still holding Stiles’ hand, pulling him along behind, and Stiles kind of looks down at it, staring at the way their fingers are entwined. 

“I can’t believe we just did that in a closet,” he blurts out and is immediately sorry he said it. He feels a sick sensation sink into his gut and wished he could have just, for once, kept his fucking mouth shut. 

Derek stops for a second, turns around gets all up in Stiles’ space and Stiles feels his heart thump madly and fuck why can’t he keep his mouth shut?

“Wait until you see what I can do in a bed,” Derek says. 

And he’s smiling. 

Stiles’ heart beats even faster with lust and happiness and joy and _wow_. He manages to make a sound that pretty much comes out as, “ohngh,” and Derek kisses him quick and hard on the lips with a wet smack. 

It’s the best goddamn burgle of the century.


End file.
